


Chapter 12

by Bloodsong



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Humiliation, M/M, Psychological Torture, Sadism, Torture, Year That Never Was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 05:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsong/pseuds/Bloodsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During The Year That Never Was, the Master systematically tortures Jack.   Jack submits in order to save his team, even though they believe he has betrayed them and is actually working for the Master.  The Master is determined to test these bonds of love, and destroy them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapter 12

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hidden Behind Our Appearances](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/10441) by Ohinyan. 



> This is my rendition of Chapter 12 of [Ohinyan's](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1714510/ohinyan) "Hidden Behind Our Appearances." Published with permission of the original author.
> 
> In order to understand the story, you need to read Chapters 1-11 of that fan-fic. You may also read the original Chapter 12. If you find it makes you too queasy, you **do not** want to read this version. This version is more graphic.  
>  Addendum: The Epilogue covers Chapter 13 of "Hidden Behind Our Appearances." You may wish to read that chapter in its original form as well.
> 
> A special salute to all those who understand the particular sensation of numbness after the dread of anticipation.

**Chapter Twelve**

Ianto had never known hatred before.

He had always prided himself on rationality and calm control. Passion he reserved for things that deserved it. Fighting injustices. Protecting the innocent. Love.

So it always came as a bit of a shock when catching sight of _that man_ caused a surge of white-hot rage to flare up inside him. That man being the so-called Captain Jack Harkness, the man Ianto had looked up to as the defender of the human race, protecting the world from dangers most people never even dreamed existed. The man he had admired. The man he'd fallen in love with.

Until Jack had betrayed him and everyone else on the planet by joining with the Master, the enslaver of humankind. Dressed in black, he was the Master's executioner. Hatred roiled inside Ianto, like a beast clawing to get out, to inflict its pain on the target of its attention. "How many people have you murdered today, traitor?"

The man in black looked away. His eyes were cold, his face impassive stone. He ignored the invectives his former teammates hurled at him as if they were beneath his notice. Carelessly, he shoved plates of scraps, their meager rations, into the prison cells, then turned away.

Ianto ignored the food as he stepped to the bars. "Did your Master give you a big luxury suite?" he called after the retreating figure. "Does that help you sleep at night after what you've done?" Ianto gripped the bars and yelled down the corridor. "You'll get what's coming to you, Harkness! the Master will turn on you, and when he does, I hope he does his worst!"

 

Jack kept his jaw clenched so hard, he imagined his teeth might crack. It wouldn't do to break down in public. The charade must be maintained at all costs. He tried to pretend that the others knew, that they were just playing along, making up those terrible things just to fool the Master. It didn't work. Every word twisted in his gut like a knife. He knew his former comrades, his loyal team, loathed him. And his lover despised him. The hatred burning in Ianto's eyes seared him to the soul.

He made his way to the bathroom facility nearest to the Master's suite and slammed through a stall door before he started shaking. He couldn't dally here for long. _Go slop the pigs,_ the Master had ordered him. _And hurry back, I have something special planned for you tonight._ How his eyes had gleamed as he said that, a snake's smile spreading across his face. Another violent tremor rocked Jack's body. He emptied his stomach, then his bowels and bladder. He wrapped his arms around himself and tried to stop shaking. But those words, _something special_ , kept echoing through his mind. _Something you've been waiting for a long time_. But what? The Master had already tortured and raped him in every conceivable fashion, what was left?

Jack closed his eyes, pressed his hands to his face. He couldn't think about that! Don't think about the future; don't think about the past. He's not hurting you _right now_. You're safe, in this moment. He mentally repeated his mantra. _They can't hurt you out here. They can't hurt you out here. They can't hurt you out here._

He went to the sink, washed up, splashed some water on his face. He dried off with a paper towel and looked into the mirror. He took a breath. _They can't hurt you out here._ His eyes were dull, like clouded marbles. He tightened a few muscles in his face, constructing a shadow of his former cocky grin. It was enough to pass for the Master's right-hand man.

His back itched in a few places where the black shirt had stuck to the scabs, but he dared not try to dislodge it. It would only start bleeding again. He wadded up the paper towel and threw it in the bin. He exhaled slowly and returned to the Master's chambers.

 

The Master and his wife were sitting at the table, eating a sumptuous meal. The Master set down his wineglass. "Finished already?"

"Yes, Master." Jack cast his gaze down, but not before he caught Lucy's hunted look. The bruise on one high cheekbone was nearly gone.

"Well, go inside and wait."

"Yes, Master." Jack went past them, through the open door to the bedchamber. His heart rate went up as soon as he crossed the threshold. The secret door was closed, thank God. Jack sat on the floor next to it, to await the Master's pleasure. He tried to suppress the tremors that coursed through his limbs. The Master had hurt him -- done things to him -- in this room before. But never anything in front of Lucy. Jack was safe until she left.

Unless this 'something special' involved her somehow? Jack tried not to think about it.

The Saxons ate and drank their wine. They spoke in quiet tones. Jack tuned them out, just staring at the floor, rocking slightly, keeping his mind blank. Until the Master raised his voice. "You like looking at him so much? Freak!" he called. "Come here!"

Jack scrambled to his feet and went out. "Yes, Master?"

"It seems the missus here finds you pleasant to look at."

"No, Harold," she said, her eyes on her plate, her lower lip trembling. "I just meant--"

"Tut tut!" he shushed her. "It's true. He is very handsome." He cocked his head up at Jack and smiled pleasantly. "Why don't you take off your shirt and show us those beautiful carvings?"

"Yes, Master." Jack started unbuttoning the black shirt.

The Master waved a hand, still smiling carelessly. "Stand over there and display yourself. Where she can see you."

Jack obeyed. Of all the things he was asked to do, this was relatively benign. He twitched sharply as he pulled off the shirt, to get it to come free of the scabs. He laid it neatly on the side table and then stood at the wall, placing his hands flat upon it at shoulder height. The Master liked him displayed just this way, spine straight, head bowed. It showed the ancient Gallifrey script sliced into his back to its best advantage. Ruby drops of blood welled up slowly where the scabs had ripped off.

"It looks much nicer when it's fresh," the Master remarked conversationally to his wife. "Though it's a lot harder to read with all the blood obscuring it."

"I'm sure it is," Lucy remarked timidly.

"Oh, but you don't read Gallifreyan, do you my dear?" He chuckled to himself. "Not that you read much of anything."

"I'm sorry, Harold."

"No need to be sorry, dear." He patted her hand. "It's not like I wanted someone intelligent. No, stupid and pretty fit the bill perfectly. And rich, that was most helpful."

Lucy said nothing to this. She just smiled her brittle glass smile. She wasn't fooling anyone with her act of happy and devoted wife. But the Master didn't want to be fooled. He wanted to see her fear, taste it, and know she smiled out of terror of what he might to to her if she didn't. It amused him.

"But, illiterate as you are, you must have an opinion on the design."

"I think--" There was a hitch in her voice, as if she were actually tempted to tell the truth. She lowered her head. "It's very well-crafted."

The Master grunted slightly, as if disappointed. They finished their dessert in silence. Jack stared at the blank white wall and hoped again that Lucy wasn't part of tonight's entertainment. She was an idiot, but it was no fault of hers that she'd married a madman. She was just as much a victim as anyone else. He could almost pity her.

Jack tensed as the door opened. But it was only Tish, coming to clear up the dishes. He held his position as she loaded up the serving cart and departed. Lucy asked the Master if he were coming to her chambers that night. He assured her that was unlikely, and Jack's stomach clenched. The madman kissed his dutiful wife and sent her off to bed.

Then they were alone.

The Master snapped his fingers and bid him come. Jack followed him into the bedroom. A sort of warm, cottony numbness spread over him, bringing calm. He was about to be tortured; it was inevitable. After all that waiting and stomach-churning anticipation, it was almost a relief.

"Look at me, Freak."

Jack raised his eyes. The Time Lord had a deceptively boyish face, one that easily smiled. His short blond hair was pale and fine, his eyes bright. Since his ordeal on the spike, Jack's gut reaction to seeing that face was pure fear.

"I still don't see why you bother to keep doing this," the Master said, truly puzzled. "For those ungrateful wretches? What is the point? How can you love anyone who hates you so?"

Might as well ask why the Doctor wanted so desperately to save his fellow Time Lord. Whether from madness or simply because he was born a sociopath, the Master could never grasp the connections that existed between two beings. Jack only said, "They don't understand."

"Hmm. But... what do you get out of it?" The Master searched his victim's face for some hidden meaning. 

"Just knowing they are safe."

"This... makes you happy?"

Jack couldn't reply. 'Happy' didn't enter into his nightmare world of pain, degradation, and deception.

"They don't seem particularly happy," the Master pressed. "The word I would use is 'hateful.'" He stepped closer to Jack. "They despise you. You and your delusions of their unshakeable love and loyalty. Give that up. Let me kill them, like they deserve."

"No."

"You _want_ me to hurt you?"

Jack looked away. The silence stretched thin. He closed his eyes. What was one more capitulation? He told the madman what he wanted to hear. "Yes, Master."

The Master laughed, his delighted boyish giggle. He pulled his laser screwdriver from his pocket with a flourish and triggered the secret door to open. "Well then! Let us retire to your 'luxury suite.'" He sniggered as his verbal barbs struck home.

Jack stepped forward and crossed the threshold into hell.

 

Ianto paced the length of the cell. He was too agitated to sit or lie on his bunk. Too riled up by the earlier presence of that traitorous bastard. Owen lay in his bunk, staring at the ceiling, trying not to bitch at Ianto. Being held in such close quarters for so long, it was hard not to grate on each other's nerves.

He quit pacing abruptly when two guards appeared outside the cell. One of them banged his truncheon against the bars, startling Owen out of his reverie. "Up against the wall!" It was Stevens and Modine, the Master's pitbulls, formerly his top torturers and executioners, until Jack had taken over that title.

"What do you want?" Owen spit, acerbity barely curbed by his helpless captivity.

"Hands against the wall, maggots!" Modine growled.

"You leave them alone!" Gwen yelled from the neighboring cell, ignoring Tosh, who tried to shush her. No one wanted to attract the attention of these two predators, who did what they wanted to anyone in these cells.

Stevens gave the women a lurid sneer. "Keep your panties on, girlie, we'll get to you soon enough."

Ianto glanced at Owen as he turned to the back wall. Resistance would be easier once the goons were inside the cell. He put his hands out and leaned on the wall. Owen slowly followed suit.

The door was swiftly opened and a stun gun planted at the back of Owen's neck. Stevens came up behind Ianto and snapped a handcuff on his wrist, then twisted his arm around behind him.

"What are you doing?" Ianto asked in a blind panic.

"The Master wants to see you, sweetcheeks."

Ianto's knees turned to water. Everyone knew what that meant -- death, or worse. Gwen screamed and tried to rake Stevens through the bars with her fingernails. Owen started to move, then cried out as Modine triggered the taser and sent the doctor to the floor in a helpless, twitching heap.

Ianto felt his other arm wrenched around behind him, and then the two guards hauled him bodily out of the cell.

They slammed the door.

"Get a move on," Stevens snarled, shoving Ianto ahead of him. "You do _not_ want to keep the Master waiting."

 

It was like a nightmare, marching through endless corridors towards a place of unspeakable dread. Ianto tried to mentally prepare himself for whatever lay ahead, but it was all so sudden. Why now, after months of mind-numbing monotony? What could the Master possibly want out of Torchwood that Jack wouldn't have already given him?

God, would Jack be there? Would he lead the interrogation? Ianto's heart rate doubled.

They came to the door of the Master's chambers. A moment after Modine announced their arrival on the intercom, it opened. The guards dragged him inside.

The Master was there, alone, pacing. A private smile lit his face. "Ah, Mr. Jones. Welcome."

"I- I won't cooperate," Ianto said, wishing he sounded stronger.

"That's not really up to you," the Master said with an enigmatic smirk. "Do sit down."

The guards plomped Ianto down into one of the chairs at the table. "I want to ask you some questions about the Torchwood archives." The Master swiveled a laptop around so Ianto could see the screen. It showed the digital photo of 'The Life Knife.' "Do you recognize this?"

"No."

The Master tapped a key to display the next artifact. "Do you recognize this?"

"No."

"How about this?"

"No." Whatever the hell the Master wanted, Ianto was not about to give it to him. At his left, Stevens shuffled his weight, as if eager to give Ianto a good smackdown.

Irritably, the Master waved the guards back. He looked at his watch for several seconds. Then, with a put-upon expression, he sat one hip on the table and tapped the keyboard. "Do you recognize this?"

"No."

"This? ...This? ...How about this?" With an air of boredom, the Master paged through the archive photos. Confused, Ianto just kept telling him no. Beads of sweat broke out at his temples. The Master was clever, playing some kind of game.

"For an archivist, you seem terribly unfamiliar with your archive."

"I mainly deal with the tax records from 1860 to 1920," Ianto said.

The Master laughed. "That's a good one! Do you know what this is?" The display showed 'The Life Knife' again.

"No."

"How about this one? ...No? Maybe this? ...Or this?" The Master wasn't even looking at the screen as he flipped rapidly through the images. Ianto barely glanced at it, repeated "No," and wondered when the other shoe was going to drop.

The Master flicked another look at his watch. "Oh well," he said flippantly. "That's enough of that nonsense." He sprang off the table, his demeanor of mild amusement vanishing. "Bring him."

Ianto could only look bewildered as the guards once more seized his bound arms and hauled him to his feet.

The Master opened the door to his inner chambers, and the guards pulled Ianto inside. He dug his heels in at the threshold when he spied the luxurious brass bed. He had quite a clear idea of the kind of perversions this madman enjoyed. "Don't you touch me!" He struggled against the guards.

The Master turned to look at him, then followed his wide-eyed gaze to the bed. He laughed. "Oh, please. Don't flatter yourself." He smirked, truly amused. "You spend a few months as Handsome Jack's little amusement, and you think you're in the same league as he is?"

The words slashed through Ianto like a hot blade. It shouldn't have affected him, but the implications of those words hurt. The guards pushed him further into the room. "I shouldn't be surprised," he said numbly. "He was never very picky."

"My point exactly." The Master snickered at him, and Ianto truly wanted to wipe that smug expression off his face.

"Why am I here?"

"I have something to show you. Please be patient, it will all become crystal clear in time." With a smile, he pulled the laser screwdriver from his pocket. Ianto shrank against his guards in fear of that deadly, debilitating beam turned on him, but the Master only pointed it at a blank wall.

And then the wall was no longer blank; a perfectly-concealed door slid open silently. Nothing was revealed beyond but darkness. An icy fist squeezed Ianto's guts. He didn't know what was in there, but he knew he did not want to see it.

"Bring him."

He threw his weight against the guards, dropped to the floor, refusing to stand. It was no use. They were big men and used to handling recalcitrant prisoners. They man-handled him into the darkened room. There was a light on the left wall, illuminating a set of shackles. They dragged him there, chained his wrists and ankles. Then they released the handcuffs, and some hidden mechanism reeled the chains back, until his arms were spread over his head.

His eyes darted past the guards and the silently observing Master. He couldn't see much in the darkness, with the overhead light blinding him, but it was enough. Cold white tile floor. Shackles on the wall, chains dangling from the ceiling, a steel table like those found in a morgue. Some sort of metal spike with a concrete base sat against one wall. There was only one purpose for this room.

Ianto started shaking. "What are you going to do to me?" he asked fearfully.

The two guards left, and the Master stepped slowly towards him. He looked Ianto in the eye a few moments, then leaned close to whisper one single word to him.

"Nothing."

A chill ran over Ianto like ice water. The Master turned away with a faint smile and went out the still open door. Ianto was left alone in that room.

Only, he realized after a minute, he wasn't alone, not quite. Down at the darkened end of the room, opposite him, he saw another figure. At first, it was a pale smudge in the darkness, but the details slowly resolved. It was a man, naked. He hung limply from his wrists which were chained to a dark beam that crossed the far wall at about shoulder height. His head was down; he appeared unconscious, or dead. Was that what the Master had meant? They were going to torture and kill someone else, here in front of him? But why?

Shortly, the Master returned. He paused to seal the door with his laser screwdriver. Then he grinned. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?" Another flick of his wrist, and the lights came up fully. Ianto blinked in the harsh glare.

The Master approached him, tucking the screwdriver away. His grin broadened, but he said nothing to the captive Welshman. He turned to this other victim. "Freak!" He clapped his hands twice. "Wakey wakey, Freak! It's time for our little treat."

The light fully revealed the other figure. His tall, broad-shouldered frame was familiar, even streaked as it was with scourge marks and blood. So was the dark hair, short, but hanging forward at the front over his lowered face. Then at the Master's call, he raised his head. Those blue eyes met Ianto's across the room.

_Oh God_. "Jack?"

 

Jack had endured the pain. It was all familiar to him by now. Then he'd been left blessedly alone, to suffer or die in isolation.

But the Master hadn't forgotten that promise of something special. They'd brought someone else into the room. Jack didn't want to look; he didn't want to know. He kept his head down.

He should have known. That bastard. What he'd been dreading, fearing: the others witnessing his humiliation. He looked up and saw his lover there, chained. Tears rolled down his face.

 

"Come here, Freak!"

"What have you--? Why are you doing this to him?" Ianto cried, seeing Jack's pain. "He works for you!"

"Of course he doesn't," the Master snorted, looking briefly at him. "Don't be ridiculous."

"What??"

But that madman wasn't paying attention to him. "I said come here, Freak! You know I don't like to be kept waiting!"

Ianto just stared, baffled. How did he expect Jack to come over, if the Master didn't first unchain him? What kind of stupid taunting--? Oh.

Jack opened his clenched fists, and now Ianto saw clearly. His wrists weren't shackled. He was held up by a pair of spikes, one driven through each palm, deep into the wooden beam. Ianto's mouth went dry.

 

Jack had to obey the Master. He had to get to the other side of the room. In order to do that, he first had to pull himself off the spikes. He'd kept his fists closed around them, trying to prevent them from tearing through his flesh. Now he opened them.

Then he braced himself and, using the muscles of his back and shoulders, tried to jerk himself forward against the spikes. The meat of his hands ripped, sending fresh blood pouring down to the floor. But the flattened heads of the spikes prevented them from passing through easily. He jerked again, crying out involuntarily. Before he lost his nerve, he threw himself forward once more. His left hand tore free, dropping his weight fully on his right. Instinctively, he tried to catch himself by bracing his feet, but the Master had broken them. The shattered bones ground together like glass shards.

He screamed and blacked out a few moments. The pain of his weight dragging the spike between the bones of his hand brought him back. With another animal cry, he _pulled_. He yanked, widening the hole in his palm, until he fell free.

He landed heavily in an awkward heap, panting, his vision still full of red and black sparks. The black ones held special allure -- if he could just dive into one and achieve blessed unconsciousness....

But his Master was calling him. He had to go.

He couldn't stand, not on his shattered feet. He couldn't pull himself, not with his ruined hands. Gritting his teeth, he propped himself up on his elbows. He gathered his knees under him.

He started to crawl.

 

Ianto's stomach heaved as he watched Jack literally rip himself free. His vision blurred with tears. He wished he couldn't see, couldn't hear, but he couldn't stop watching. Jack started crawling to the Master, a bleeding, broken thing.

"Here, boy! Come!" the Master cajoled him with sick glee. "Come on! Atta-boy!"

Ianto tasted bile in the back of his throat. He heard someone crying, and realized it was himself. "No, no, no," he sobbed uncontrollably. "Please, stop. Please! Stop it... stop...." This horrible creature had once been a man. A strong, proud man -- downright arrogant. Now reduced to crawling painfully, ungracefully, like a beaten dog too afraid to flee. Ianto had to breathe through his mouth; mucus clogged his nose. His face was wet, unheeded.

Jack made it to the Master's feet. He pushed himself up on his wrists until he was kneeling, leaning forward to keep weight off his feet. He cradled his hands against his chest. His head, he kept bowed. He sobbed silently.

"There," said the Master. "You see how obedient he is?"

"Why? Why are you doing this to him?"

"It's part of the deal."

"What deal?"

The Master pursed his lips. "Tell him you work for me."

Ianto looked down at Jack. Without raising his head, the captain said, "I work for the Master."

"Tell him how loyal and obedient you are."

"I'm completely loyal to the Master. I'll do anything he tells me."

This was insane. Jack would never become such a puppet! Ianto couldn't conceive of it. Coerced, yes. Tortured until he agreed to switch sides. But....

The Master chuckled to himself. "Tell him the truth."

"I have to do what he says," Jack said softly, his voice still rough from his screams a few minutes ago. "If I don't, he'll hurt you, and the others."

"But... If-- you... I thought...." He'd thought the worst of him. "Oh God, Jack! I'm so sorry!"

"Hmm," the Master interrupted. "Nah, tell him that's a lie. And look him in the eye," he added harshly. "Make him believe it."

Jack raised his head. His eyes were still wet with tears, but he firmed up his jaw. "It's a trick, Ianto." He sounded so much more like his old self. "Don't believe any of it. H-- We're just fucking with you!"

"No! I don't believe it!"

Suddenly, the Master lashed out and struck Jack hard across the face, nearly knocking the wounded human over.

"I'm sorry, Master!" Jack cried. All trace of his former self vanished as he started begging and whining. "Please! I did my best. Please, don't! Don't hurt him! I tried...." His voice broke. "Master, I _tried!_ "

The Master lifted his hand and Jack cringed back. But the Time Lord only stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, I believe you."

"God," Ianto said, face slack in disbelief. "What have you done to him?"

"Anything I want," the Master replied smugly. "Turn around, Freak. Show him your markings."

 

Jack huddled in on himself and shifted around on his knees. Involuntary whimpers of pain escaped his throat as his shattered feet slid against the floor.

"Display," the Master commanded him.

Jack rose up on his knees. He wobbled slightly, trying to keep his balance without putting pressure on his feet. There was no wall, but he raised his arms at the proper angle, so his spine and shoulder blades aligned to show the symbols cut into his skin without distortion.

"Ancient Gallifreyan," the Master said conversationally to Ianto. "Rather elegant, don't you think? Of course, I have to re-cut it every time he dies. Ah, but I've grown so fond of it, it's worth the effort." Ianto said nothing; his only response a choked sob. "No opinion, Mr. Jones? I thought you more erudite."

"You're a monster."

"Not quite the erudite I was going for." The Master smirked to himself. "Would you like to see what other tricks he's learned?"

"No!"

Ice shot through Jack. _Oh God, no,_ he prayed, for there was no mortal aid. _Please don't let him rape me in front of Ianto._ He couldn't bear it! His lover was so sensitive, so caring, it would destroy him to see Jack used like a whore. And Jack letting it happen.

But the dreaded command came anyway. "Submit."

And Jack had to do it. The consequences of refusing would be even worse. So he bellied down on the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut and spread his legs, leaving himself open for the Master to take him. The Master moved around and crouched down by his leg. Jack's whole body shook as he tensed with the effort to lie still. Every nerve screamed at him to move, to escape. He fought against the instinct with all his might.

"Would you like a go?" the Master asked Ianto. His hand gripped Jack's buttock, squeezed. "To get back at him? He did run off and leave you. All alone, not a word. You didn't even know if he'd ever come back, did you?" His hand slid lower, caressing the tender skin of the inner thigh. A whine escaped Jack's throat.

"Don't you touch him, you bastard!" Ianto screamed, his voice thick with tears. "Fight him, Jack!"

"I can't," he choked out.

"You can, I know you can," Ianto sobbed. "Don't let him do this to you. Fight him!"

"I can't." He pressed his forehead to the cool tile floor as the Master continued to stroke him. " _I can't!_ "

The Master chuckled low. "No, hm?" He slapped Jack's ass. "Seems he doesn't want you, Freak." He stood. "Do be a good boy and get your carcass out of the way." He stepped over Jack's legs and went out the door.

Tears flooded from Jack's eyes, tears of relief. He'd never been so grateful to that mother-fucking bastard. He felt sick from it. But he didn't think the Master was done with them yet. He crawled into a corner and curled up, trembling weakly.

 

Ianto sagged in his chains, his knees weak with shock. What had he done? How could he have betrayed the man he loved? To believe in his heart that Jack had willingly turned on them? How weak and shallow had his love been, to turn so easily to hate? He burned with shameful guilt. "Jack, I'm so sorry." He couldn't tell if Jack heard him.

After a minute or so, the Master returned, flanked by his guards. Ianto straightened up, fearing what the evil bastard might do to them now.

The Time Lord stepped up to him, speaking low. "Now, Mr. Jones, there's no need to look at me like that. Didn't I say I would do nothing to you?"

"And your goons?" he croaked.

"Oh, semantics! Really, I am a man of my word. As your ex-lover can attest." The Master shook his head. "Now, Mr. Jones, I need you to be reasonable." Ianto narrowed his eyes in contempt, but held his tongue. "I promised the Freak to let you stay the night, but I can't let you get any blood on your clothes. So." He clasped his hands and gestured at his guards. "Stevens and Modine here are going to strip you and release you. If you resist, they'll have to leave you chained up." He shrugged and opened his palms. "Up to you."

So Ianto let them take his clothes, though he still feared a trick. The guards didn't so much as cop a feel. They took his clothing, then released the shackles. They and the Master left. The door sealed shut, and the lights went down.

Ianto hurried to where Jack lay in the corner. "Jack? Oh God, are you all...?" He gulped. "What can I do?" He looked helplessly at Jack's torn and bleeding hands, his mangled feet, the blood-crusted on the cuts to his back, the welts on his chest and stomach.

Jack cracked his eyes open. "Is he gone?" he rasped.

"Yes. Yes, he's gone." Tentatively, he brushed strands of hair from Jack's face. "But I don't know for how long."

"He's done." His eyes closed, though pain still pinched the corners.

"Is there anything I can do to help you? To get you cleaned up, bandaged...?" Ianto looked around helplessly. He stood and went to the steel cabinets along one wall, not heeding Jack's faint protest. He stopped looking after two drawers and a cupboard. What he found only made his stomach turn. He returned to Jack's side.

"There is nothing here for my comfort," the battered man said woodenly.

"What about water? There must be--"

"There is nothing here for my comfort."

That didn't make sense! A man couldn't live without water! Oh. Oh hell. "But... how do they clean up? What if the-- if he wants you... healed?"

"If he wants me healed, he kills me. If he wants me cleaned up, he sends Tish."

"Tish knew about this?" Ianto said aghast. "Why the hell didn't she tell anyone?"

"She couldn't. Or her family would end up in here."

"Oh God. Isn't... isn't there anything I can do?"

Jack's eyes drifted closed again. Waves of pain creased his face. After a minute he said, "Ianto? Are you really here?"

Ianto bent closer to hear the faint voice. "Yes, Jack."

"You're not a dream?"

"No. No, I'm really here."

"H-hold me?"

Ianto bit his lip. He was terrified of accidentally hurting Jack further, but he lay down on the floor next to him. Gingerly, he gathered the other man in his arms. Jack curled his hands protectively to his chest; he tucked his face against Ianto's shoulder. Ianto tightened his arms. He could feel blood leaking onto his chest, and hot tears on his skin.

Jack sobbed. "Ianto, I'm so sorry."

"You're sorry? Jack, what have you got to be sorry for?"

"I betrayed everyone. I killed those people." His body shook with sobs. "I made you hate me."

"No, no. Shh." He stroked Jack's hair as his own tears traced lines over his cheeks. "You didn't have a choice."

"H-he was going to kill them anyway. Do worse things to them. I-I had to shoot them. It was more merciful...." 

"I understand, Jack. I understand. It's all right." In this hell the Master had created, death was a blessing. "No one can fault you for that. I'm the one who's sorry. Those terrible things I said to you. I should never have doubted you." Ianto gulped as his words came back to haunt him. _I hope he hurts you. I hope he does his worst._ "I never will again, I swear it."

"I guess I can't blame any of you for my brilliant acting skills." He snuffled a bit of a morbid laugh. 

"Why didn't you give us a sign? Anything?" 

"I couldn't. He was watching. He would have known." 

He kissed Jack on the head. "When the others learn of this, they'll understand. They--"

"No!" Jack pulled away. "No, they mustn't know! No one can know!" His eyes flashed wide with panic. "You can't tell them. You can't act any differently towards me."

"But--"

"Promise me! If he finds out, he... h-he..." He started hyperventilating, shaking violently.

Ianto held him tight. "Okay, all right. I promise, I swear!" He held Jack close until he'd stopped shaking. "No one will know," he vowed. "Look at me." He took Jack's face gently in his hands. He leaned forward, pressing forehead to forehead, and whispered, "When I rub my eyebrow, that means 'I love you.' It will be our secret. No one else will know."

Jack looked at him, eyes inches from his own. "You... you mean that?"

Of course, their relationship being what it was, they'd never got into the sappy sentimental bits. But it could be no clearer than now. "Yes, Jack, I love you. I'll never stop, I promise."

Jack sighed his name. "I love you, too."

 

Nothing more needed to be said. Their lips met, softly, gently. Jack closed his eyes and focussed on this contact with his lover. Ianto's body was warm, comforting, like the contact between two human beings should be. The pain receded, became less significant. Jack pressed closer, deepening the kiss so he could drown in it. 

Inside his chest, a spark reignited. A spark the Master had worked hard to stamp out. All the games, the deals, the masquerades, all the pure, raw torture had systematically destroyed him, bit by bit. His body could heal, but not his spirit. Not without this. Not without hope. Not without love. 

Jack gasped for breath, breaking contact for a moment, just a moment. then he dove back in hungrily, needing his lover's touch as much as he needed oxygen. Ianto put his hand on Jack's neck, his strong fingers holding him, curling into his hair. 

 

Ianto sensed the cold and lonely need within Jack. In the darkness, in the pain and despair, it might be their last kiss. He gave of himself, his warmth, his love. Anything to ease Jack's pain. He gently gripped his lover's neck, holding him close. His other hand moved to Jack's shoulder, careful to avoid his wounds. He ran his palm over the curve of Jack's bicep. He was so strong, Ianto's captain. Ianto closed his eyes, remembering the proud figure standing tall, his pretentious coat emphasizing his broad shoulders, swirling around his legs. His captain needed him. Ianto would willingly give him everything. 

Jack startled slightly. Ianto pulled back, suddenly very aware of his erection pressing against Jack's hip. "Oh God, I'm sorry! I don't -- I didn't mean--" What was his body thinking? After the humiliation and pain Jack had been through, the pain he was still in! After nearly being raped by that bastard. Ianto was mortified.

"No," Jack said softly. "Don't ever be sorry for wanting me." He lifted a bloody hand and caressed Ianto's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "You don't need to be sorry for that." He sighed softly and pressed closer, his face wrinkling in sadness. "I only wish I was in some kind of shape to do something about it."

A smile curled Ianto's lips. He knew then that Jack would be all right. Somehow, they'd weather this disaster, survive it and come out on top. And everything would be fine again.

Ianto rolled onto his back, pulling Jack gently on top of him. "There is one thing in this room tonight for your comfort," he said. "I'm here. Lean on me, Jack. Even if I have nothing else, I can give you my warmth and a soft place to sleep."

Jack's eyes glittered with grateful tears. He relaxed and settled, pillowing his head on Ianto's chest. Ianto held him, stroking his hair and his shoulders where he wasn't cut. Soothing his lover as best he could.

Ianto didn't think either one of them would be able to fall asleep, but the physical and emotional drain of their ordeal had taken a heavy toll. The cold floor eventually grew warmer with body heat, and exhaustion wrapped them in a healing blanket.

 

"All right, lovebirds; you've had enough fun!"

Jack went from oblivious sleep straight to heart-racing panic at the sound of that voice. He tried to push himself up on his hands, but screamed as the raw wounds hit the floor. The Master already had him by the hair, yanking him upward.

Beneath him, Ianto thrashed. Murderous rage sprang up in the Welshman's eyes, but before he could move, Modine and Stevens grabbed ahold of both his arms. They dragged the lovers apart.

"Ianto!"

Mercilessly, the Master dropped Jack, shoving him hard to the floor. Again, he tried to catch himself and cried out as pain lanced up through his arms. Then the Master planted a knee in his back. He yanked Jack's head up by the hair again. "One night, Freak. I hope he was worth it."

 

Ianto floundered, his bare feet skidding on the slick tile flooring. Stevens and Modine were hauling him out of the room, taking him away from Jack. If he could just gain his footing, he'd murder them all with his bare hands and damn the fact he was naked!

"Jack!"

The Master had him pinned down, but held his head up. Ianto could see the light dying in those blue eyes as he was dragged away. "I love you, Jack! Never forget that! They can't take that away from us!"

With a bemused smile, the Master cut Jack's throat. He dropped the limp body, letting it bleed out on the floor. But not before Ianto saw one last thing in Jack's eyes. Relief.

Modine and Stevens got Ianto into the Master's bedroom. They shoved him into a corner, and he stood up. "Clean him up," the Master ordered. Stevens pushed past Ianto into the private bath, then returned with a wet cloth. Ianto snatched it from him and wiped blood from his chest.

"Get dressed, Mr. Jones," the Master told him. Then to his guards, "If he gives you any trouble... do be gentle." Modine cracked his knuckles.

Ianto forebore killing anyone, but his face was twisted in anger. When he was clothed once more, they herded him to the front room and sat him in the same chair as last night. The laptop was still there, displaying the Dogon sixth eye. A glass of water sat on the table as well.

"Drink that."

Ianto reached out and knocked the glass to the floor. Stevens backhanded him across the face.

"Do _not_ leave a mark!" the Master snarled.

Modine had ahold of one of his arms. He tried to cuff Ianto to the chair. Ianto fought, heedless of any damage he might do to himself. So the Master promised Jack he wouldn't hurt any of the Torchwood team? Let Jack see the bruises next time he came down to the cells! Then he'd know the deal was off! He'd fight back! 

It was a useless notion, but Ianto was not in a rational mood.

They did manage to get him cuffed. But it took them two tries to get the damned drugs down his throat.

 

Modine banged on the cell bars. "Against the wall!" Owen jerked awake and half fell off the bunk. He blinked and managed to focus on Ianto, hanging limp in the guards' grasp. Biting down a curse, he assumed the position.

As soon as the door clanged shut once more, Owen went to the archivist's limp form.

"Is he all right?" Toshiko asked from the next cell. She and Gwen watched worriedly.

Owen lifted one eyelid. "Well, he's doped up on something." His fingers lightly brushed a swelling on the side of Ianto's face. He lifted the shirt and checked for bruises, running his hands over Ianto's ribs. "He doesn't seem hurt."

 

After ten minutes or so, Ianto came around.

"You all right, mate?" Owen asked.

"How long was I out?" He sat up, looking around confused.

"We don't know. They dropped you off this morning; you were unconscious."

"It's morning?" His grumbling stomach confirmed it.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Gwen asked.

"Uhm... they took me.... I remember Harold Saxon was there." He rubbed his forehead. Memories began swimming into focus. "He asked me... about the Torchwood archives."

"What did you tell him?" asked Owen.

"I don't... Nothing." Ianto shrugged, but something else was nagging at his memory. "Do you think I've been retconned?"

Owen and Gwen exchanged looks. "Why would they retcon you?" she asked.

"I don't know. I...." Suddenly, the blood drained from his face. "Oh God."

"What? What is it?" all three of his comrades wanted to know.

He wrapped his arms across his stomach. "They... I think they took me into the bedroom... that's when I blacked out. What did they do to me?" His voice rose in panic.

"Whoa, easy, mate," the doctor said. "I checked you over; you're fine." Owen met his eyes. "You feel all right, yeah?"

Ianto let out a pent breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so." He really did. The only thing that hurt was the side of his face. He rubbed it. "Only I'm sure the Master took me into his bedchamber."

The team exchanged worried glances. "But whatever for?" Toshiko finally asked.

Ianto shook his head. "I have no idea."

 

**...Epilogue...**

The Master sent Jack down to the cells several times that week, as if determined to prove something. At first, Jack was eager to go. He could see Ianto again. They couldn't speak, and Ianto would have to pretend to still despise him, but all Jack needed was to see that covert signal. Ianto's love would give him strength to carry on through this ordeal. He could keep hold of sanity and soul.

Only the signal never came.

Jack became more desperate. He began to dally at the cells. He suffered the bitter recriminations of his former comrades, searching for a sign from Ianto. 

The Welshman looked up, and their eyes met. "What are you looking at?" he snarled.

Jack said his name softly. He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't, but he needed validation so badly. 

Ianto came closer to the bars. "What, are you drooling with the hope that the Master will invite you the next time he wants to interrogate me?" Jack's facade cracked. Something must have shown on his face, and the Welshman picked up on it. "You _were_ there?" His eyes darted, puzzled a moment, then hardened. "Where? In the Master's bedroom? Did you rape me when I blacked out?" he shouted, gripping the bars. 

"No! That's not what--" 

"You fucking bastard!" 

"I'd never hurt you," Jack pleaded. He moved closer; he put his hand over Ianto's fingers. Ianto jerked away as if touched by something filthy. The crack widened. "Please, Ianto. I love you." 

"Don't make me sick! What is this? Some ploy to get your little fuck-toy back?" The words cut like shrapnel as Ianto degraded himself and their relationship. "Next you'll offer to get me out of here, if I'll warm your bed. Well, forget it, Harkness! I'd rather rot!" He turned away in disgust. 

"Leave him alone," Gwen yelled at Jack. "Haven't you done enough?" 

"Piss off, you bastard," Owen growled. 

Jack's monumental control was slipping, his mask crumbling to pieces. If they only knew. All he had to do was explain. The words began forming on his tongue. They would finally know, and they'd forgive him, just like Ianto had. They'd understand and love him once more. 

And then he could watch as the Master killed them. Slowly. The light going out of their eyes as they writhed on the stake; or hung from the chains, or even the wall, their legs shattered; or they burned. Jack bit his tongue, tasting blood.

But his need was so great, these words slipped out, barely a whisper: "You love me, Ianto. Please, try to remember." 

The Welshman slowly turned. His eyes glittered with hatred. "I don't love you. How could I?" He raked Jack with a look of contempt. "You're a monster." 

Jack fled. 

 

"What have you done to him?"

The Master looked up, a sauteed prawn halfway to his lips. His pale eyebrows rose in mild bemusement. "Him? Oh, your little boy-toy, Mr. Jones?" The Master waved the prawn airily. "Please, don't tell me you believe all that sappy clap-trap. 'Ooh, I'll love you forever,'" he simpered mockingly. "'I'll never forget.' Humans have such feeble hearts. Really."

Jack clenched his teeth. "You retconned him?" He tried not to sound hopeful. If Ianto truly didn't remember, then he didn't _know_. If he understood the circumstances, he could love Jack once again -- that night had proven it.

The Master smiled at his victim's discomfiture. "Yes. It took us a couple of tries, though." Jack seethed, and the Master's smile broadened. "Daft species, this lot. You know, I could snuff out his pathetic little life with no more effort than snapping my fingers, but all he went on about was how I had no right to snuff out yours every once in a while." He snorted. "Honestly. Like that holds any meaning."

Jack clenched his fists, burning with rage at this casual dismissal of his suffering, simply because it wasn't permanent. That it could be erased, and he could be reset to a clean slate, ready to be tortured all over again. And then to have taken away his one tiny spark of hope for redemption. "You bastard!"

The amused look vanished from the Master's boyish face, replaced with ire. The look of a deadly madman, about to lash out. The fingers of his left hand slowly tapped the table top. One, two, three, four.

Jack swallowed dryly.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap._

_Tap, tap, tap, tap._

_Tap, tap, tap--_

"You're distraught," the Master said, the corner of his lips curling. Perhaps he remembered it was his plan to twist Jack's emotions around, to make him 'distraught.' "I'll overlook that little bit of insubordination."

Jack lowered his head.

The Master bit off a chunk of the prawn. "Go to your room."

Not trusting his voice, Jack turned silently and went into the bedroom. The secret door was open, waiting for him. His room -- it was a ghastly joke. It wasn't a place of warmth and sanctuary, but a cold place of fear and pain. He went inside to await the Master's pleasure.

The door sealed shut behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> For my illustration of the carvings on Jack's back, [click here: "The Master's Handiwork"](http://bloodsong13t.deviantart.com/#/d59gly2).


End file.
